I'm between - inside the wasteland where the borders of amazement, pain, awe and disbelief collide.

Friday, July 7, 2017

Phrasal Verbing Character Voice

It occurs to me that our age can be deduced by our phrasal verbs. When we are young, it is all up; we run up, grow up, rush up, want to stay up. When we are older it is all down; slow down, hold it down, calm down, I need to lay down.


Monday, January 9, 2017

Grendal's Mother in Beowulf

Until the late 1970s, all scholarship on Grendel's mother and translations of the phrase "aglæc-wif" were influenced by the edition of noted Beowulf scholar Frederick Klaeber. His edition, Beowulf and the Fight at Finnsburg, has been considered a standard in Beowulf scholarship since its first publication in 1922.

Sunday, January 8, 2017

Emotive, Emotion and Feelings

To write is to persuade. To persuade is to make a connection and if you want to motivate then that connection will have to be an emotional connection. If the goal of your persuasion is to keep the reader turning pages, the path is the same.

Wednesday, January 4, 2017

The Literal Meaning of Genesis

In matters that are so obscure and far beyond our vision, we find in Holy Scripture passages which can be interpreted in very different ways without prejudice to the faith we have received. In such cases, we should not rush in headlong and so firmly take our stand on one side that, if further progress in the search of truth justly undermines this position, we too fall with it. That would be to battle not for the teaching of Holy Scripture but for our own, wishing its teaching to conform to ours, whereas we ought to wish ours to conform to that of Sacred Scripture. -- Saint Augustine, The Literal Meaning of Genesis

In the 1950s the Pope and a staff of 20 Cardinals hired some of the most renowned scientists of the time, for the sole purpose of understanding

Sunday, December 11, 2016



This is a fictional city in the GRIMM MC series, that I built over an existing one, but then edited the existing one whenever I wanted the stage to be in an environment not available in the real city.

I use My Maps, a Google service which happens to work for this kind of note taking beautifully, and also allows export and then import into Google Earth. Maps is less cumbersome to setup a basic set of stages, (character houses, stores, crime scenes), from start. After a while though you need better tools and Earth has them. Below is the map for Sand Creek, Co. Keep in mind that my goal is to write a novel, not polish the state of my notes, and these maps are exactly that, visual notes and reference tools. But since some of you are writers too, check it out. Might save you mucho hours.

The purpose of using a fictional city, rather than an existing one, was because of the desire for a small town, but also some horrific things going on there. Serial killings, cannibals, evil, ya'know, the basics. At the time, however, I just felt it would be rude to the people who went out of their way to live there, and then give them bad memories that never happened.  Anyway, that's my lie and I'm sticking to it, because it's to silly not to be believed.


Saturday, December 10, 2016

Pressing Skies

Everyone is dead.
They don't know.
The silence deafens me.
Cry, something!
Wheels have been set in motion,
and they have their own pace,
to which we are...condemned.
Each move is dictated by
the previous one -
that is the meaning of order.
If we start being arbitrary it'll just be a shambles:
at least, let us hope so.

But after we have passed beyond condemned
What is arbitrary? What is law? Or right?
They move as though nothing has changed.
Up this street, down that street,
watering that lawn, mowing this grass.
We should have been better strangers.
I always thought that of them.
I am Between - inside the wasteland
where the borders of amazement, pain, awe
and disbelief collide.
It smells the same.

Heart needs to stay out
of my personal life
and pump blood.
That's heart's job.
Pump blood.

An anticyclone, perhaps,
that has cleared the skies,
and pressed the ocean to glass
It’s powerful stagnate stoic stance
made the winds run in all directions,
so no one is carried away.
Horse latitudes.

I wave back to Martha,
she's still mad
at what I said,
but first off you can't smell yourself...
never mind. She's dead...
she could get ripe soon.
And there's Joe.
We've always shared
the warm glow of mutual unwelcome.
There must have been a moment
at the beginning,
where we could have said no.
Somehow we missed it,
and fell into the madness

Tangled that weave,
walked that wasteland,
escaped those mind forged manacles.
Then danced in the desert
blowing up the sunshine.
And now I'm here,
watching Joe stop watering, and say
'Why am I dead no more?' as he
fades away invisible,
fluttering north.
Others, a few each hour, ask the same,
or look around certain they used to be there.
It seems to have hit the whole neighborhood.
Well, what doesn't kill me,
should be running by now.